Dreamless
by ficnic
Summary: "I couldn't sleep last night because I know it's over between us."


Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. They are the property of a short-sighted corporate entity who shall remain nameless (seriously, if these were your characters, would you take them off the air? I think not). This is an AU/no-train universe fic.

Warning: Coarse language.

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I couldn't sleep last night because I know it's over between us. It's weird that it really just hit me yesterday. It's been over for awhile. I guess I never totally accepted that before.

Denial goes a long way, if you're good at it. Apparently, I am. God knows how I tried to deny my feelings for you in the beginning. I convinced myself I was _not_ falling for you. There was no _way_ I could be falling for you.

Except that I was. And I did. And no matter how I tried to ignore it, it was pointless. Somehow, the incredible, impulsive, passionate man you are turned out to be damned resourceful, too.

I grew up learning to protect my heart. No one held the figurative key to it, because my barricades were more complex than that; more like a combination lock. But that turned out to be no defense at all against you. You instinctively knew every number in my sequence, _without even trying_.

That's pissing me off a lot right now. Before yesterday, I'd been sleeping okay. Sure, there were always those few moments after lying down, listening to the sound of nothing, thoughts of what I'd lost tearing strips off my soul.

But they were always only a few moments, because I'd fall into dreamless slumber pretty quickly. I made sure of that. I've spent my days working all the hours I can get my hands on - anything to fill the agonizing minutes until it's finally time to leave here.

In the beginning, I worried that work wouldn't be a refuge. It's not like I didn't see you there regularly before we ended. But you've mostly stayed away. That's you being you, trying to shield my feelings by avoiding a place you used to frequent.

I should be grateful for the consideration. It has been a relief knowing I can go to work and keep busy and try to forget, without having you drop in to screw it up. Still, sometimes your compassion makes me so fucking angry. I guess because it feels too much like sympathy.

If you were _really_ compassionate, you'd remember I can't stand pity. Hell, if you actually cared, you'd have left me the fuck alone in the first place. You wouldn't have forced me to feel more than I was ready to; more than I _wanted_ to.

What was the point if it was all going to end like this? So I could spout clichés like "it's better to have loved and lost", and act like I believe them? So I could profess the time we had together was worth the unrelenting hell of now?

Because I've gotta tell you - it wasn't. Not by a long shot. There's no comfort in reflecting on the feel of my lips pressed against yours. There's no warmth in recalling the heat of your body gripped close to mine.

So don't go consoling yourself when you feel guilty. Don't think you've left me with sweet memories that someday, I'll learn to treasure. Because I won't. Every recollection of you isn't a gift; it's a curse.

Do you hear that? You've _cursed_ me, Luke Snyder. You, who pushed me to feel and want and love. You, who convinced me to open myself to you, pretending I was secure in your hands.

What a joke. I'd be safer swimming in a shark tank with a side of raw beef and an open wound. At least the sharks would be up front with me. They'd make it clear they wanted to eat my heart out from the start.

Not you. Of course, you never _meant_ to do it. You're too kind for that. You love without thinking. Actually, you do just about _everything_ without thinking.

And why wouldn't you? It's working for you, obviously. I saw that painfully enough yesterday. No wonder I couldn't sleep last night.

It's one thing to know in my head you're with _him_ now. It's another to turn a corner in Old Town to see you practically straddling him on a bench. You were kissing him like he housed all the remaining oxygen on Earth, and you had to inhale him to get at it.

I'm only here another week, you know. Then I'm on that flight across the country and so outta here. It can't happen soon enough; for either of us, I think.

Still, you _know_ when I fly out. I'm not asking much of you, but dammit, could you cut out the public mauling for a few more days? Is that really so much to ask?

I'm glad you looked horrified when you spotted me. You jumped off of him like a cat who'd stepped on a hot plate. At least there was a little satisfaction when he turned around and saw me, and knew _I_ was why you stopped.

That was cold solace, of course. I knew it would be. You collected yourself and acknowledged me, with _him_ rising to your side to join you, offering an appallingly cordial greeting of his own.

Of course he was gracious. Why wouldn't he be? I could plaster on a smile and offer him a pleasantry, too, if I was in his shoes.

At his easy smile, though, the truth finally hit home in all its excruciating glory. You are never coming back. That proverbial ton of bricks stings like a mother, in case you're wondering. I guess you aren't.

So I went home last night and tried to stick to my recent routine. As usual, I was exhausted; I'd been on my feet all day. I flopped into bed, doing my best to push away the repulsive scene of what I'd seen, while I waited for sleep to overtake me.

It never did. Eventually, I began to panic. If I couldn't sleep, how would I escape the memories? Why was this happening _now_?

At first, I thought the obvious. It was running into the two of you together that was keeping me up. Still, I had expected that to happen at some point. We're not exactly in a sprawling metropolis here.

But the more I reflected, the real cause of my insomnia dawned on me. It wasn't running into you. It wasn't seeing you with _him_, or even seeing the things you were _doing_ to him.

It was him, period. It was that goddamned effortless, genuine smile that he'd given me. Who the fuck does he think he is?

I'll bet the bastard thought he was being polite; friendly, even. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't detect any sneer in that smile, or any triumph in the blue of those eyes. The son-of-a-bitch didn't smile at me because he thought he _had_ to, or as a means to gloat.

He simply smiled because he was _happy_. He was the happy that was supposed to be _mine_. And so I couldn't fall asleep, because even when I could push away the visions of you in my mind, the one maddening, nauseating, gut-stabbing image that I couldn't shake was his mother-fucking big-as-life shit-eating grin.

Will it be the same tonight? I hope to God the extra fatigue from one sleepless night kicks in hardcore, and I'll collapse as soon as I walk through my front door. Because if I have to spend one more blasted night with that damned smile burned into my brain, reminding me what he has and I lost, I'll go batshit crazy before I _ever_ get the hell out of Oakhell.

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Note: Since I have zero ability to dream up one-shot material, I began with an unused prompt from the luke_noah LJ monthly challenge #15. The first sentence here was the idea of _solostrightnow_, inspired by 'The Notebook'.

Update: Since almost every comment has asked this, I want to address it. Is this Noah? Is this Reid? I know who *I* think it is, but that said - I did write this intending that it could read from either perspective. So the answer is - you can pick who this is. LOL.


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